Page 96 of Hot Damn
“Come sit. Have some water.”
His gentleness, the careful movements he’s making toward me have me stepping back again and anger rolling through me. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Please, Cam, come sit down before you fall down, and I’ll explain what we know so far.”
I’m not frightened of Beckett. I’m scared of what he’s going to tell me. In spite of my fear, I let him take my hand and guide me back to his bed.
“Here.” Whitney appears in front of me, a glass of water held out. “Do you have a headache? I can get you some pain meds if you need but they said if you can put up with it you should try. At least until the Zolpidem is completely out of your system.”
“Zolpidem?” My eyes move to Beckett.
“It’s a drug used to treat insomnia.”
“Why the hell did I take a sleeping pill?”
“Drink some water and I’ll explain.”
His words don’t ease my mind, they only make me more confused. But what can I do other than what he’s asking?
I know neither of them would hurt me and their concern is genuine, if confusing.
When I lower to the edge of Beckett’s bed and take the glass from Whitney, both of them breathe a sigh of relief and sit on either side of me.
Their actions are not making me feel any better and after a couple of sips I brace myself and demand, “Tell me.”
“What do you remember?” Beckett asks.
“We won the game.”
“After the game. Do you remember anything from after the game?”
I think about it, because the longer I sit here the more my brain seems to clear. “You got a hat trick.” At his nod, I continue. “Nat banned the media from the locker room.”
“She did.”
“I was with Dad”—air rushes through my teeth and into my lungs as memories flash through my head. “Someone pushed me. Put something in my bag.”
“Draper. But he didn’t just push you. He injected you with Zolpidem and what he put in your bag was a tracking device.”
That explains the sleeping pill. But the other… “A tracking device?”
“We’re not sure why he did that, but Ray speculates his intention was to follow you until the Zolpidem took effect.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know that either.”
Bringing a hand up, I rub my forehead. “I feel weird.”
“You will for a little bit until the Zolpidem leaves your system. The doctor said to keep your fluids up to help flush it through.” He accompanies his words with a hand on the glass urging it back to my mouth. “Food will help too. I’ll make you some toast. Unless you feel up to eating something else.”
“I can make it.” Whitney pushes to her feet and looks down at me. “I’ll make whatever you want.”
“Toast is good.” I don’t want them to fuss over me more than necessary and at that thought, another pops up. “Why am I here? Why didn’t I go home?”
“Your apartment is a crime scene.”
“My apartment…” More memories surface and I’m not liking most of them.
